Spin the Bottle
by ringanybells
Summary: It was hardly the first time that Mary was called to the bar to pick up a drunk, but she never thought that person would be Marshall.


Mary had walked into her first bar at age fifteen, after receiving a call from the bartender. His name was Steve, and with all the time her mother spent at that particular bar, he felt like he knew the young teenager quite well. It was a little past one, last call, and this was one of the rare nights that Jinx had not been able to find a guy to amuse her or take her home. When Steve had asked Jinx how she was getting home, Jinx had responded by showing a picture of Mary and asking Steve to call. When Mary had shown up, he had recognized her from the photo, and had waved her over and introduced himself. The young girl had been polite enough to him, but had given her mother a look of disappointment. But when Jinx had recognized her daughter, Mary's face had become one of sympathy and love. Steve had been amazed at the gentle way that the girl had helped her mother, with actions that looked way too familiar to her. That was the first time that Mary picked a drunk up at a bar, ushered them home, and taken care of them. That was the first, but by no means the last.

Over the years, she'd picked Jinx up hundreds of times, even after moving out of the house. The first time she'd picked Brandi up, her younger sister had been 17. Like her mother, it was a habit that Brandi was loathe to break. Aside from her family, she'd done the same for Mark, her short term husband, a few girl friends from college, and even a boyfriend or two. Years of practice had taught her how to act, what to do, and what to expect. No matter who the drunk was, she approached the situation the same. Whatever happened from the time she got involved to the point they woke up the next morning, they wouldn't remember any of it. She made herself believe that they didn't mean the things they said or did. And regardless of what happened, in the morning, she would simply let it go and forget about it. It was easier that way.

But she never expected the person calling for a ride to be Marshall. As she walked into the bar, her eyes instinctively scanned the crowd, seeking the tall frame of her partner. She found him in the back corner, talking the ear off the waitress still there. The room was empty besides the bartender and two older men closer to the exit. At the sound of the door, the bartender looked up. When he met her eyes, she motioned toward Marshall. The bartender held up 8 fingers. Mary closed her eyes for a moment, releasing a sigh, before nodding to the barman. She made her way quickly to Marshall's side.

She came up on the other side of the waitress, and leaned in, "Beat it, Red."

The waitress turned to retort, but thought better of it when she saw the glare Mary wore. She slid off the barstool and said goodbye.

Mary took her empty seat. She waited for Marshall to acknowledge her presence. It only took him a few seconds. He caught her eyes, and she saw his light up, "Mare. Did you know that the word whisky comes from the Gaelic _uisce beatha. _It means 'water of life'."

Mary looked at her partner, slightly stunned. He'd had eight shots of the whisky he so aptly defined, not to mention, counting the mugs in front of him at least half a dozen beers. Yet he was still sprouting off useless, and more likely than not true, trivia. Sure his speech was a little slurred, but she was still impressed. Most of the time when she was called out to a bar in the middle of the night, the person she was picking up couldn't even remember her name, let alone the etymology of the liquor they had consumed. Sliding into a role she'd perfected by age 17, she smiled down at her partner. "No, I didn't know that. Come on, buddy, let's get you home. It's late."

Marshall looked up at his partner, as if surprised to find her there in front of him. "What are you doing here, Mare? Shouldn't you be at home, with _Raphael?"_

She noticed the emphasis on the name of her former fiancé. Any other time, she would have told Marshall to shove it and mind his own business. But two things stopped her. For one, Marshall was drunk. And getting into an argument with a drunk person was never a good idea. She'd learned that at age twelve when she'd tried to stop her mom from opening a fourth bottle of wine, and had instead ended up with the contents of the bottle all over her, and a large gash in her forearm. Their neighbor, an emergency room nurse, had sewn the wound for her and promised to call social services in the morning. Jinx had had them out of the house by noon. The other thing stopping her was the fact that she would never be _home_ with Raph again. She'd run into him at a coffee shop across town while tending one of her witnesses earlier. He hadn't been alone, and he hadn't been up for much conversation with the bimbo's tongue in his mouth. She'd told him he had the night to get out of her house. She had spent the last four hours sitting on Marshall's couch waiting for him to come home when the bartender had rung her phone. Swallowing her anger, she placed a gentle hand on Marshall's arm. "I'm here for you, Marshall. It's time to go home."

For a moment, he offered no resistance, letting her pull him up. Once he'd gained his feet, though, he pulled his arm away. "Go home, Mare. I don't need you here."

Normally, the words would have hurt her, caused her to lash out in return. But she had done this too many times, and she let routine take over. Instead of taking his words to heart, she let them go. "You need a ride home, Marshall. That's why you asked the bartender to call me."

This information seemed to confuse the usually on top of things marshal. "I do? I mean, I did?" He looked toward the bartender, who had been observing the conversation from a few feet away. When he met Marshall's eyes, he nodded, trying to make things easier for the blonde woman, who he could tell was not having the best night. "Oh, then we should go."

Mary couldn't help the small smile that spread across her face. Most people in Marshall's shoes would have continued to argue, to insist they were fine and just needed another drink. But even drunk, Marshall was responsible and considerate. "Well, alright then." She leant her arm to support him.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she slipped hers around his waist. If he leaned on her a little more than absolutely necessary, she didn't let on that she realized. She was glad for the contact, but never would have sought it from a sober Marshall. Instead, she held him a little tighter, making sure that he stayed upright, as he had done so many times for her.

Once in the parking lot, she moved toward his car, rather than hers. It would be easier to get him in and out of the SUV, than to try and fold him into the Probe. When they reached it, she gently shifted his weight from her shoulder to the car. Her hands moved to his jacket, searching the pockets for his keys. Not finding them in either of those pockets, or the inside breast pocket, she let her gaze slide to his pants. Why did men always have to keep the keys there? On more than one occasion picking up a drunk male, she'd braved digging in their pants pocket for the keys. It was usually accompanied with lewd comments that she couldn't retort to because it broke the rules, or even worse, an attempt to mount her right there in the lot. She didn't think she could handle either one from Marshall, but she needed the keys. Taking a deep breath, she moved her hand to his pocket.

She kept her eyes on his face, watching him for any sign of which reaction he would have. But Marshall didn't move, he simply watched her, one hand still over her shoulder. Mary was surprised to find such a serious, contemplative look on his face, normally the people she was helping couldn't keep their eyes open. Marshall was looking at her as if she was a puzzle he was trying to figure out. Finally her fingers closed around the key ring and she pulled them free of his pocket.

She unlocked the doors and helped Marshall into the passenger seat. She made sure that he was completely in before closing the door. She stepped away from the truck and walked around the back. When she was sure she was out of sight, she paused for a moment, leaning against the hatch. She took several deep breaths trying to regain control. She'd done this hundreds of times, her control was usually iron. But this time, having to do this with Marshall, was weighing on her. She'd never expected to have to play this roll with her partner, not that she minded. It was just harder than she thought. She reached up and wiped a stray tear from her cheek. Aside from her father's leaving, some of the worst nights of her life had involved picking up her drunken mother. Her mom had a tendency to be quite belligerent when smashed. It was one of the many reasons that Mary had developed the tough skin she wore. She took another deep breath and pushed herself away from the car.

When she opened the driver's side door, she once again found Marshall staring at her. Uncomfortable under his intense gaze, she dropped her eyes. "Come on, Marshall, let's go home." She slid into the seat and started the car. As she navigated the empty streets, she kept her eyes trained front. She could feel Marshall's gaze on her but she did her best to ignore it. Tonight was turning into an emotional roller coaster for her, first with discovering Raph's infidelity, and now having to play DD for Marshall, terrified of what he might say. As she thought more about it all, she couldn't help the tears that fell. Hoping that Marshall wouldn't notice, she did not wipe them away, not wanting to draw additional attention to them.

The ride was silent. It wasn't the first time they had ridden in silence, but Mary didn't like it. It wasn't a comfortable silence; it was a pregnant one, like waiting for the other shoe to drop. She knew that she wouldn't escape the evening without hearing a piece of Marshall's mind, it had never happened before. Alcohol removed inhibitions and loosened the tongue. All the things that he held back during the day, about how she had completely screwed up his life, she knew that they were closer to the surface now. She would get an earful once they were in the house. She just hoped that she would be able to accept his words with grace, and turn the other cheek. Because she knew that if she blew up at him when he was like this, things would get much worse. He could be forgiven whatever he said, he had no control; she could not.

She turned the SUV into the driveway, shifting into park. She waited till she felt Marshall's eyes move from her face to the front of his own house before looking over at him. Sure that his attention was elsewhere, she raised her hand and swiped at her cheeks, trying to erase any traces of the tears. Before she could drop her hand to her lap again, Marshall turned back to her. She watched his eyes widen in surprise at her actions, taking in her wet cheeks and wide eyes. Mary held her breath a moment, hoping that Marshall would say nothing. He held his tongue, but reached his hand over and brushed her cheek. Mary's eyes closed against her will. It had been a long time since she had let anyone see her cry. She leaned into his touch, not able to stop herself.

Taking her acceptance of the contact as an invitation, Marshall leaned forward. Sober, he'd never even dream of kissing her, too scared what that could mean for their partnership. But in his current state, all he could think about was how beautiful she looked and that she shouldn't be crying. He'd kept his distance for years, not wanting to push her away. But her impending nuptials had him scared, scared that he would lose her without ever really having her. So presented with this chance, a vulnerable Mary and no inhibitions, he moved in, desperate to taste her.

Though her eyes were closed, she felt him drawing closer. His warm breath, heavy with whisky, clouded her mind. This wasn't like other times, when the men she was picking up were pawing at her and trying to get laid. This was Marshall. What he was about to do was something she was sure he had thought about just as much as she had in the last 4 years. She knew that she should stop him, that allowing him to kiss her would effectively shatter her walls and would definitely be something she would not be able to forget come morning. And she knew that in the morning, when he went back to normal and she was expected to pretend that none of this had happened, that this moment would never again leave her mind.

But when his lips touched hers, all her reservations left her. She couldn't think. His kiss was soft, no sense of the roughness that drunks usually displayed. His hand moved forward, cradling her head. She leaned in, deepening the kiss. He may have been the one who consumed the alcohol, but Mary found herself drunk off the taste of him.

Knowing that she couldn't let this go any further, she pulled back, ever so slightly. She didn't want to break the kiss just yet. Her movement snapped something in Marshall. He sprung back as if burned. His eyes were full of pain. Mary felt her cheeks burn. She shouldn't have let him do that, but she had wanted him to so bad. "I'm sorry, Marshall. I wasn't…" She trailed off, watching as he shook his head.

Marshall kept his eyes off his partner. Inebriated as he was, he knew that a line had just been crossed. He also knew that it was his fault. He may have potentially just ruined the most important relationship in his life. He fumbled backward, feeling for the door handle. He needed to get out of the car, away from the smell of her, the intoxicating bouquet of his partner.

Mary watched him as he stumbled out of the car. She couldn't just leave him, not like that. As she watched him come to a stop before his front door, she realized that he could go no farther. His keys were still in her hand. She moved swiftly from the car, steady on her feet despite the confusion in her mind. She mounted the steps of his porch and moved forward to place the key in the lock.

As she moved past him, she stirred the air, and his senses were once again overcome by her presence. He tried to restrain himself, but she was taking too long to open the door. She had just turned the handle when the leash he had on his emotions snapped. He grabbed her right arm, spinning her around. She stumbled back with the force of him, her other arm reaching up to grip his waist and keep her own balance. He pressed hard against her, holding her pinned between his body and the door, now open to his house.

When he pressed his lips to hers this time, she felt the hunger that usually came with alcohol. His body was strong against her, holding her up as the strength left her legs. His right hand once again cradled her head, keeping her from pulling away; his left was tight on her waist. Her hands went to his back, keeping him flush against her. Her mind screamed at her to stop this, before it went too far to ever come back. But she had not felt this good, this safe, ever before. And it was for that reason that she held tight to her partner.

His lips moved from hers to trail down the side of her neck. As he suckled his way down, Mary couldn't contain the soft moan that escaped her, the one that brought him back to reality as she softly said his name, "Marshall…"

The moment the word escaped her lips, she knew it was bad. She felt him stiffen against her, his back going rigid and his muscles tightening. Where his mouth had been only moments before, there was nothing but an icy chill. It took another moment after that, but soon his hands were missing from her skin as well. Mary suppressed a shudder of disappointment at the missing contact. She yearned to move forward, to pull him back to her. But as desperate as she was for his touch once again, she was, as ever, terrified. If she touched him again, there would be no stopping them. A part of her thrilled at that prospect, the thought of making love to Marshall, her steady partner, the one man, the one person, in the world who truly knew and understood her. But there was another part of her that feared what would come in the morning. Too many times, she had woken to find the person she'd been so kind to the night before had shed the memories of the night along with the buzz. She couldn't bear to have Marshall looking at her with confused eyes asking what they'd done. She couldn't take the risk that they would share this amazing evening, and then she'd have to pretend it had never happened come sunrise. She loved Marshall, but there were limits to her ability to forget.

Marshall must have read the fear in her eyes, because something akin to panic took over his own. He dropped to his knees and wound his arms around her waist. "I'm sorry, Mary, please, don't leave. I didn't mean to…please don't leave me. I love you. I'm so sorry." He buried his face in her stomach, terrified he had just ruined their partnership and their lives. He held tight, afraid that if he gave her the opportunity, she would bolt from the house and out of his life.

His words stole her breath. She couldn't stop the tears that came at his words. She wished she hadn't heard them, knew that in a few hours, he would wake up with no knowledge of the things he had just said. Marshall was her everything, and she loved him, of that she had no doubts. But there was no way a man like him, a man who prided himself on his brains and his ability to reason, could ever love her. And as desperately as she wanted him to, she was glad that was the case. The people who loved her didn't last long, they got hurt and they left. She couldn't stand to let that happen to Marshall. Doing her best to stop the tears, she laid a hand on her partner's head, smoothing his hair. "Hush, it's alright, Marshall. Relax, come on, it's time for bed." It took several minutes of soothing him before he loosened his death grip on her waist.

When he did finally release her, he looked up, trying to meet her gaze. But Mary couldn't bring herself to meet his eyes. He had already caught her crying once this evening, she wouldn't let it happen again. She kept her eyes trained on the ceiling, gently stroking his hair. When she felt him move to push himself up, she dropped her head, determined to keep him from seeing the tears. Before she could cross her arms, in her normal, protective stance, he captured her hand with his and twined their fingers together. She looked down at their linked fingers and realized that Marshall would not be letting her go.

She trailed behind him to the bedroom, where he kicked off his shoes. He moved to collapse into the bed, but Mary stopped him. She tugged her hand free and quickly undid the buttons of his dress shirt, then pulled it off his shoulders. She moved to place it on his dresser, but he grabbed her wrist before she could leave his side. With his free hand, he took the shirt and tossed it aside, where it landed on the chair in the corner. He tugged on her hand, indicating that she should get into the bed. But she knew she could not do that.

Waking up next to him, whether they had sex or not, would be too much; she couldn't handle that. In the morning, she would open her eyes to find his arms wrapped around her, his breath on the back of her neck. And then he, too, would wake up. But instead of the safe and warm feeling that she knew she would have, he would have only confusion. And the same question would arise. What did we do? It wasn't a question she ever wanted to answer, not for Marshall. Feeling tears well in her eyes again, wanting so badly to take comfort in her partner, she shook her head. "I can't, Marshall. Please, don't do this." She tried to pull her hand away, in order to strengthen her resolve, but he held tight. She looked up to meet his eyes, pleading that he would just let her go.

Looking into her gaze, all Marshall could read was fear and pain, neither of which he ever wanted to see in his partner's eyes, especially when they were looking at him. Seeing them, stoked his own fear, "Please don't go." He couldn't stand to have her leave any more than she could watch him go. Yet with his actions earlier, he knew that he had forced her to do just that. He had pushed her, crossed the boundaries she had carefully marked years ago and basically spat in the face of her engagement. The only way to have made this any worse would have been if he were the one to leave in the first place. Despite what he knew, he did not release her hand.

Knowing that even drunk, Marshall would never hurt her, she brought their hands to her lips and kissed the back of his hand softly. Then meeting his eyes, she pulled her own free, "I can't stay here." Before he could stop her, or she could stop herself, she hurried from the room.

Normally, she would have taken the time to tuck whomever she had chauffeured home in and made sure that aspirin and water were within easy reach. But she couldn't bring herself to go back into his room. Of course, that didn't mean she went very far either. She slipped out to his living room and sank onto his couch. She knew she'd be spending the night here, not wanting to risk going home and seeing Raph, or running into her family. But more than that, she wanted to be here for Marshall, just in case. No, she couldn't give him everything he needed tonight, but maybe there was something she could offer him in the morning, even if it was just an open bottle of aspirin.

It took several hours for her brain to stop racing and sleep to claim her. When it did, she found herself in Marshall's arms, the tortures of a recurring dream amplified by the fact that she now knew just how good the position felt. Before she knew it though, the sun was beating down on her closed eyelids, calling her back from dreamland.

She rose quietly, sure that Marshall would not be up for a few hours at least, and wanting to have some hangover remedies to offer him. She walked into the kitchen and walked toward the coffee pot, knowing that she would need that if she was going to wake up enough to do anything else. But the red light was already blinking. Mary stared at it for a second, confused. Marshall did not have an automatic timer on his percolator, which meant that he was already awake. Just as she came to the realization, she heard his footsteps behind her.

"I thought you said you couldn't stay?"

Mary froze, as much at the tone as at the words. His voice was soft, as if he was afraid any loud noise might startle her. But it was his words that stopped her. He remembered her words from the night before, which meant he most likely also remembered his own, as well as their actions. Swallowing her fear, knowing it had no place between her and Marshall, she turned to face him. "I didn't expect to see you vertical this early."

Realizing that Mary had no intention of making this easy, he prepared himself for a long battle. "Yea, well, I didn't get much sleep." He saw a look of pain fly across her face. Unsure of what it meant, he continued. "I'm sorry for what happened last night."

Mary felt her balloon of hope burst. If Marshall was apologizing, then he didn't remember last night. She had foolishly allowed herself to believe that he would be different from all the other drunks she had dealt with. When he'd repeated her words, she'd thought that just maybe they might be in a new place in their relationship today. But she was wrong. Everything was just as it had been yesterday morning, except she now had a whole new set of memories that would cause her pain. She wondered if Marshall's forgotten words would cause her as much pain as her mother's harsh ones used too. She did her best to square her shoulders and put on her solid front. "There's nothing to apologize for, Marshall."

Marshall moved forward, unsure of what exactly her words might mean. "Don't do that, Mary."

The use of her name, and not the shortened version he usually used, brought her eyes up, "Do what?"

Marshall leaned against his kitchen island, close enough to his partner that he could stop her if she decided to make a break for it, but far enough away that he wasn't crowding her. "Don't just brush last night off like nothing happened. We need to talk about it."

Mary took a deep breath, trying to keep her temper and her cool. She faced her partner. "Marshall, really, there's nothing to talk about. You were drunk. Anything that you said is water under the bridge, I promise. I learned a long time ago not to take anything a drunk person says or does to heart. If I did, than I would never have been able to stay around my mother all these years." She smirked as she finished, hoping to ease whatever guilt Marshall was feeling.

But knowing Mary as he did, he saw right through her ruse. He dropped his head, ashamed of what he had put her through. He knew that Mary's home life had never been ideal, but sometimes he forgot just how bad it had been for her. He should never have asked the bartender to call her, he was sure she'd spent more than enough of her life hauling drunks out of bars without him adding to it. "Damn, Mare. I didn't even think…I never should have called. You shouldn't have had to be there for me."

She threw her partner a quizzical look, "Hey, it's my job to be there for you. And that's the one situation where I actually know what to do. Don't apologize for calling me. You're always there when I need you. It was my turn." She took a step closer. She didn't want him to think that he couldn't call her.

"You've spent more than enough time in your life dealing with drunks. To put you through that…and then to act the way I did. God, I'm surprised you stuck around long enough for me to even try and apologize." He could have smacked himself. He had firsthand experience of what Jinx could be like when drunk, and had heard more than enough stories from Mary to suggest it only got worse. To put her through a repeat, and then dump his feelings on her, to kiss her…he was a horrible person.

"Like I said, Marshall, I learned a long time ago not to take drunk people seriously. You didn't mean the things you said, and what happened…" She took a deep breath, trying to erase the feel of Marshall's lips from her own, the heat of his body pressed against her own.

Marshall looked at his partner; if he didn't know better, he'd say he heard regret in her voice. He took a step toward her, reaching out and grasping her arm. "What if I did mean the things I said? What if I meant every word? What if I've wanted to do and say those things every day for the last three years, since the day I met you?"

"Don't, Marshall. I can't go down this road with you. Saying it when you're drunk is one thing, I can forgive that. But if you think you can say them now and then take them back later. Please don't do that to me."

Marshall knew that he was playing with fire, but a part of him didn't care. He may not remember every detail clearly, but kissing Mary last night had been wonderful. "I'm sorry, Mare, I shouldn't have said that. You're right; last night was a mistake on my part." He watched as she let out a sigh, but he knew her well enough to know that it was not a sigh of relief, but of resignation. "But what about on yours?"

Mary's head shot up. "What?"

Marshall pulled her closer, placing his free hand on her other arm. "You heard me. I was drunk, I shouldn't have kissed you. But you were stone cold sober. Why did you let me?"

Mary froze. She locked eyes with her partner, ready to refute what he had said. Something in his gaze stopped her. He had pushed her too far. He wanted to do this, she would oblige. She only hoped that they would still have a partnership when it was all over. "You want to know why I let you? Because I was weak. Because last night, you said you loved me and for once, all I wanted was to be loved. Because when I'm with you, I don't have to pretend, I don't have to be strong. And last night, I needed that."

Her words stopped him. In all their time together, she had never admitted weakness, she had never admitted needing him, not out loud, not for him to hear. On one level, her words broke his heart. He hated that he had to dig so deep for those words. But more importantly, his heart soared to finally hear her say them. Not relinquishing his grip on her, and slightly amazed that she had not yet pulled out of it, he lowered his voice, "What happened?" He saw her jaw clench, saw her eyes harden, knew she was fighting back the need to tell him. But he wasn't going to let her pull back into her shell now. He moved his right from her arm to her cheek, cradling her face as he had the night before, "Mary, what happened?"

The soft caress broke her restraint, but she refused to meet his gaze. "I caught Raph with another woman yesterday when I dropped Stacy off at work. If he knows what's good for his health he spent the majority of last night packing."

Marshall closed his eyes, sharing in his partner's pain. He pulled her to him, placing a kiss on her forehead and wrapping his arm around her waist. He felt her resist for a split second before following suit and wrapping her arms around him. "Mare…" Marshall wasn't sure what to say. Mary didn't usually take comfort and she never accepted pity. His options were fairly limited .

"You know what, I'd really just as soon not think about it. I would really like to forget everything about yesterday. That's actually kind of how I make it through my life, by forgetting everything that happened whenever someone I love is drunk. So, as of right now, all of it, the whole of yesterday, it's just erased, non-existent, okay?" Mary shrugged her shoulders, breaking Marshall's hold on her. She turned away to pour herself a cup of coffee.

For a moment, he let her go. But then the whole of what she'd said sunk in. He grabbed her arm again, a little more forcefully this time, spinning her back around to face him. "Whoa, wait a minute. You want to repeat that?"

Mary froze, repeating in her head what she'd said. The moment the phrase in question echoed within her mind, she could have shot herself in the foot. Schooling her expression, hoping Marshall would accept her lie, she allowed him to pull her around. "Which part were you unclear on, numbnuts? The part where I'm handing you a get out of jail free card or the part where I don't want to talk about it?" She pulled her arm out of his grip.

But Marshall had long ago learned how best to deal with his partner. He let her go, but didn't back down. "No, no, the part where you said you loved me. That's the part I was unclear on. Maybe we could focus on that part."

Mary cursed herself for letting that word slip. But she held her ground. "You know, Marshall, I've had a really long couple of days. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that I've spent my life getting by by not taking to heart the things that happen when alcohol is involved. This time is no different."

Marshall stepped forward, driving Mary two steps back. Her back was against the fridge and Marshall planted his arm against it, effectively trapping her. "Wrong, this time is very different. This time it's me you're dealing with. Me, Mary, your partner, the one person that you _cannot_ lie to. So how about you stop trying. Do you love me?"

Mary closed her eyes, shaking her head, damning herself for her slip of the tongue. Of course she loved him, but she had formed her only stable relationship around the fact that she would never tell him that. And now here he was, demanding she do just that. She opened her eyes, looking at her partner, her best friend. She opened her mouth to deny it, to tell him that he was insane if he thought she could ever love him. But that wasn't what came out. In a weak imitation of her usually strong voice, the answer was nothing more than a whispered, "Yes."

Marshall let his head fall, gently connecting with her forehead. He never thought he'd hear her admit that. He felt a smile form on his lips, "Good, because I love you, too." Without giving her a chance to say anything, he brought their lips together, showing her just how much he meant that last statement.

Mary welcomed the kiss and wrapped her arms around her partner. She had learned a lot over the years dealing with drunk people. They never revealed the whole picture. The alcohol played with their minds and too often they said things they either didn't mean or weren't willing to hold to. Too often, they were a different person when the sun rose, leaving her trying to cope with whatever damage they had wrought under the influence. They taught her that drunk people could not be trusted. But if there was one thing she held truer than that lesson, a lesson that had been reinforced a hundred times over since age 8, it was that her partner could be.

Marshall had stood by her side, a pillar of strength, since the day they'd met. Through all the shit she'd thrown at him, he'd held firm. When she'd been in trouble, he'd helped her. When she'd been sad, he'd cheered her up. When she'd been held against her will in a basement, he had done whatever necessary to find her, and after he had helped her find her footing again. She could not count the number of times he had asked her what she needed, and then, upon hearing her request, actually fulfilled the need. So no, she didn't trust a drunk as far as she could spit, but she trusted Marshall with her life. And she figured if he was capable enough protecting that, than there was no better man to which she could entrust her heart.


End file.
